What the Dead Write

The ribs had been cleanly split, each groove a story. At first, it looked like weathering, then primitive etching. But under magnification, the carvings were unmistakably modern: "I loved you…

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Felt in Passing

At their own funeral, the ghost hovered in the rafters, watching the sparse crowd below. The priest droned on about peace and eternity, but the ghost couldn’t stop staring at…

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